


The Language of Snakes

by Svartalfur



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-27
Updated: 2011-04-27
Packaged: 2017-10-18 17:47:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/191553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Svartalfur/pseuds/Svartalfur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At the brink of his own personal <i>happily ever after</i>, Harry has disturbing dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Language of Snakes

Harry jolted awake in sweat, blinking in the darkness. He fumbled for his glasses on the bedside table and took in his surroundings - the pale rectangle of the window, the glowing embers in the fireplace, the hunch-backed goblin, dark and menacing.

Harry grabbed his wand and shouted a Stunning Spell.

There was a sound of snapping wood. The goblin toppled over and Harry's robes slid off the broken chair.

Laughter bubbled up inside him. Snape had been right, he _was_ an idiot. He was chasing monsters in the middle of the night as if he were still the little boy in the cupboard.

In the meantime, his eyes had adjusted to the dim light. Resolutely, he sat up and swung his legs out of the bed, grimacing when his bare feet hit the cold hardwood floor. He cast Reparo and set the chair upright again, then put his robes into the wardrobe where they belonged. "Orderliness is next to godliness," he imagined Ginny saying, her voice resembling that of her mother. Without any doubt, his future life would be ordered and peaceful.

The night was starless and cold. All windows were dark on the opposite row of houses. Fighting a lost cause, the few street-lamps stood brave and defiant, their isolated lights halos of ice. A fierce wind hissed through the leaves of the trees in the centre of the square.

The sibilant sound made Harry shiver. The noise of the wind, he realized, must have disturbed his sleep, penetrated his dream and evoked horrors of the past.

Harry closed the window with a thud. It wouldn't do to dwell on the past, now that he was on the brink of his own personal _happily ever after_. He climbed back into bed. Huddling under the blanket, he promised himself that in the future, he'd only dream of Ginny.

* * *

Grimmauld Place was much cosier now than when it had been Headquarters of the Order. Ginny and Kreacher were fiercely competitive about who could best manage the household, and as a result, the house and everything in it was immaculate. In the kitchen, every surface shone. Ginny had even procured a sofa, old-fashioned, but very comfortable.

"Oi, mate," Ron said from the flowery depths of the cushions. "You look as if you didn't get a wink of sleep. Scared already?"

Hermione jabbed him in the ribs. "Not every wizard fulfils the old cliche," she said. "Harry's looking forward to the wedding, aren't you, Harry?"

Harry took the steaming mug Kreacher offered him and sat down at the table. "Thank you, Kreacher. Of course I am, Hermione." After devouring two slices of toast and most of the scrambled eggs on his plate, he added in an afterthought, "I miss Ginny, I think."

Hermione smiled. "Shortly before the wedding, it would be inappropriate for the bride and the groom to live together."

"It's still three days," Harry protested.

"It's stupid anyway." Ron snatched a slice of toast from the table and sank back into the sofa cushions. "You've been living here together. Why pretend?"

"Men." Hermione shook her head and took a large bite of Ron's toast. "You wouldn't know romance if it hit you with a Bludger. Besides, there's still so much to -"

A huge barn owl interrupted her, swooping through the open window and skidding to a halt next to Harry's plate. It stretched out its leg.

"Hello, Uriel," Harry said. He unfastened the letter, all the while stroking the feathers on Uriel's breast, so as to keep him from falling head first into the porridge.

"That owl's just as clumsy as his master," Ron said, grinning. "What's up with Neville?"

"Neville hasn't been clumsy for a long time." Hermione's tone was disapproving, but she grinned back. "I hope he didn't refuse the invitation to the wedding. Lately, he's turned into a hermit."

Harry fed Uriel an owl treat and watched him miss the window twice before soaring away. "He wants me to come to Hogwarts. There seems to be a problem."

"What problem?" Ron and Hermione asked in unison.

Harry shrugged. "It doesn't say. Sounds urgent, though."

Hermione took the letter and glanced through it. "There's no way we can fit a visit to Hogwarts into our busy schedule," she admonished Harry. "Neville will have to wait until after the honeymoon."

"But, it could be something important." Harry's protest was feeble. He knew from the expression on Hermione's face that he didn't stand a chance.

"If that were the case, Neville would've said so." With the help of her wand, Hermione guided the letter to the fridge. A tiny metal owl sailed from the top of the fridge. It attached itself to the letter and held it in place. "Now we won't forget," Hermione said with a reassuring smile. She clapped her hands. "Hurry up, boys. Madam Malkin doesn't like to be kept waiting."

* * *

 _Darkness coiled around Harry. It restrained and suffocated him, and, no matter how much he struggled, he couldn't break free. An urgent hissing filled the air. Harry knew the sound, yet he had never heard it before. Whenever he'd listened to snakes in the past, to his ears, their language had been English. "Leave me alone," he said into the darkness. "I can't understand you anymore."_

 _The sibilant sounds turned into laughter. The laughter swelled until it became unbearable, and in the middle of this ocean of ridicule, Harry could make out a single word, repeated over and over. "Idiot!"_

Harry jolted awake in sweat, his heart drumming in his ears. Before him, a pair of red eyes glowed in the darkness. A malicious voice hissed a command, and Harry froze. Then he was inside the snake again, ready to strike. His fangs ripped through white skin, and he tasted blood on his lips.

He doubled over, gasping for breath. It wasn't real, he told himself over and over again. It wasn't real, just a memory. His worst memory, sure, but nevertheless _just a sodding memory_. Slowly, his breathing returned to normal.

He grabbed his glasses and was finally calm enough to assess the situation. He'd bit his lip in his horror, and it was his own blood he tasted. A few embers glowed red in the fireplace. He must have mistaken them for Voldemort's eyes, the hissing of the dying flames for Parseltongue. Shivering from the cold, Harry wondered if he'd ever get rid of the pain.

He rekindled the fire with his wand and huddled under the blanket. He had to find closure, _and soon_ , he decided. The horrors of the past should have no part in his new life. The thought that he wasn't a Parselmouth anymore comforted him. With the fragment of Tom Riddle's soul, the darkness inside had left him and the evil was gone forever.

* * *

Ron was alone in the kitchen when Harry came downstairs the morning before the day of the wedding. "Where's Hermione?" Harry asked, dropping onto the sofa beside Ron. He shook his head when Kreacher popped up to offer him tea. "Bring me a Painkiller Potion first, please."

"At the Burrow, helping mum with the flower arrangements and stuff. She gave me a parchment with our schedule for today. It's charmed to help us to keep the appointments." Ron sighed as he handed Harry the parchment. "With force, if necessary."

 _11 o'clock - jeweller_ , it said in bold letters at the top. A drawing of an alarm clock reminded Harry that there was only half an hour left. Next to the clock stood a stick-figure Hermione. She pointed at the dial with an irate expression on her tiny face and a grenade in her hand. In comparison to the rest of the drawing, the hand grenade was enormous and gave a lifelike impression. "Tick tack, tick tack, tick tack," said the clock.

Harry thrust the parchment back at Ron. "What happens if the grenade goes off?"

Kreacher appeared with a faint pop and offered Harry the potion. Barely looking at the acid-green fizzyness in the glass, Harry downed it in one gulp. "Urrrgh"

Ron shrugged. "Dunno. I suppose it's going to hurt. No permanent damage, though. Hermione wouldn't want to risk the wedding."

"I can imagine." Noticing his headache had disappeared, Harry grinned. "What did she do to prevent us from throwing it away?"

"Wait. Let's give it a try." Ron balled the parchment up and threw it out the window, then closed the window with a wave of his wand. Before he'd even lowered his arm again, thunder roared through the kitchen. A flash of lightning struck the sofa next to where he sat, and the parchment reappeared out of thin air. "RONALD WEASLEY!" Hermione's voice boomed, "DON'T YOU DARE JEOPARDISE YOUR BEST FRIEND'S WEDDING! STICK TO THE SCHEDULE!"

"Now that's what I call _to stick_ ," Ron said to the parchment that hovered at his side and followed his every movement. "Schedule, stick to Ron. Good schedule." He petted the parchment. "Don't I have a clever wife?" Pride and irony warred in his voice.

"Resolute and inventive, that's for certain," Harry said, and they both laughed.

"Tick tack," said the clock, pointing out that there were only twenty minutes left until the appointment with the jeweller. Stick-figure Hermione warningly raised the hand grenade.

"Listen, mate." Turning to the fridge to get some milk, Harry's eye had fallen on Neville's letter. "Could you do me favour?"

"What do you want?" Ron asked suspiciously.

"The parchment is charmed to stick only to you," Harry said in a pleading tone. "Could you fetch the rings for me? We don't have another appointment until two o'clock. That would leave me enough time to go and see Neville at Hogwarts."

"Dunno." Ron frowned. "I've been looking forward to spending some time with you. Just the two of us, you know, like in old times."

"Yeah," Harry said. "It's just, lately, I've been having these weird dreams. I can't remember them afterwards, but ..." He scratched his head, trying hard to put into words what was going through his mind. "... Something seems to be calling me. It's weird ...yeah, I already said that. Anyway, I believe it has to do with unfinished business."

"Unfinished business?"

"Voldemort. The war. Snape. Take your pick. I think I have to find closure before I can make a new commitment."

Ron's frown deepened. "Snape?" he said. "Don't tell me you still believe in that nonsense. That he's alive somewhere and in hiding until his name's cleared."

"No. By now, I'm thoroughly convinced he's dead." Harry smiled to hide the sadness that overcame him whenever he thought of Snape's fate. "Besides, his name _has_ been cleared in the meantime. He's even been awarded -"

"Took you long enough," Ron interrupted grimly. "Only a little more than a year wasted searching for the bastard, your chances with my sister almost ruined - thank Merlin you came to your senses at last."

"Ron," Harry said, properly chastised.

"Shriiiiiiek," the clock on the parchment warned. It was ten to eleven. Hermione pointed a determined stick-figure finger at the pull ring of the grenade. Ron watched her with a look of awe on his face.

"Ron."

"We'd better hurry."

"Ron, please. Neville needs my help. And if going to Hogwarts gives me the opportunity to come to terms with the past, what's so bad about that?"

Ron drew his wand.

"I'm the happiest man in the world, believe me," Harry said insistently. After all, it was only the truth, he assured himself. "To marry Ginny, to finally have a family, to lead a peaceful and orderly life, that's all I ever wished for."

Neville's letter slipped to the floor as Ron Summoned the owl pinning it to the fridge. He caught the owl in his hand and performed a series of complicated wand movements, all the while muttering under his breath. His face was screwed up in concentration, and Harry noticed the beads of perspiration forming on his forehead.

Finally, Ron presented Harry the owl with a proud grin. "Here you are," he said. "Now you won't miss our next appointment."

The owl flapped its tiny metal wings and attached itself to the collar of Harry's robes. Harry watched it in bewilderment. "What did you just do?" he asked.

The parchment shrieked another warning. Five minutes to eleven. Slowly, a stick-figure finger was inserted into the pull ring of the hand grenade.

"Portkey spell." Ron wiped the sweat from his forehead and stood. "I learned it in Auror training, just the other week." He grabbed the parchment. "See you here at half past one. Good luck, mate. Don't lose the -" The rest of Ron's sentence was drowned out by the crack of his Apparition.

* * *

Neville dismissed his class and joined Harry near the entrance to Greenhouse Three. His smile was contagious. "Harry, good to see you," he said, carefully plucking several tentacles of an orange-coloured plant from Harry's shoulders. "The Desirea Flammata likes you. Ginny's a lucky woman."

"Hi, Neville. Good to see you, too." Another tentacle reached for him, and Harry ducked his head before shaking Neville's hand. "What's the matter with it?" he asked, pointing at the plant. The orange colour had intensified, and the whole plant looked as if it were on fire.

"It feeds on human desire. The more it's exposed to it, the more it burns. Hence the name." For some reason unknown to Harry, Neville blushed. "I only once saw it inflamed like that, though. When Bill last visited, it ..."

Harry's mind drifted off. He wondered what the plant had sensed in him. His feelings for Ginny, comfortable like an old blanket, were based on friendship and trust. He and Ginny shared the wish to have a family and, finally, a normal life, but their love didn't burn, it never had. The only burning desire he'd experienced so far had been his desire to find Snape. _But that was all over now_ , he promised himself and the clingy plant.

"... and the colour was incredible. I'm sure it's looking forward to Bill's next visit," Neville ended, a broad smile on his lips. His face was flushed, and Harry thought that he sparkled with happiness. The tentacles of the Desirea surrounded his head like a flaming halo.

Neville shook off the plant and led Harry out of the greenhouse. "Would you like a cuppa?"

The fresh Highland air dissolved Harry's gloom. He took a deep breath. "I'm a bit in a hurry. So what's your problem? You didn't say."

"Thanks for taking the time to visit. Your schedule must be busy."

"You bet," Harry said. "Actually, I'm grateful for a break." They shared a grin.

"I wouldn't have bothered you if I'd seen any other way to deal with them. But even Hagrid didn't know what to do. You're my last resort."

They were walking in the direction of the gates now, and Harry had to skip to keep up with Neville's long strides. "Them?" he asked.

Neville turned around so quickly that Harry bumped into him. "The snakes."

"Snakes?" Harry rubbed his forehead where it had collided with Neville's chin. "What snakes?"

"Hundreds, no, thousands of snakes have invaded Snape's memorial," Neville said, stroking his chin. "Harmless garden snakes, poisonous vipers, constrictors, even uncommon magical snakes like Ashwinders and Runespoors - every variety known to Hagrid is represented. I even spotted a small Basilisk with its eyes closed. That's the most amazing thing - they get along well."

Sudden anger boiled up in Harry, anger at the pestilence that sullied Snape's memorial, and anger at Neville, who told him all this with an equanimous attitude. "Are they immune to the Killing Curse?" he finally pressed through clenched teeth.

"Why would we want to kill them?"

"Why?" As if he himself were a Basilisk, Harry had to close his eyes to rein in his fury. "Why? Snakes are evil, you of all people should know that."

When Neville didn't answer, Harry opened his eyes again and met Neville's surprised stare.

"I don't understand you, Harry."

"What's there to understand? You killed Nagini, didn't you? Oh fuck, I wished, I wished ..." Harry didn't finish the sentence. He seized his wand, realising that now was the ideal opportunity to, at least symbolically, revenge Snape. Killing Nagini had been denied to him. Now he had the chance to rid the world of her brothers and sisters. A perfect way to find closure, he thought as he stormed off, wand at the ready.

The Stunner hit him in the back. He toppled over and crashed, face forwards, to the ground. Neville was at his side immediately. "What's wrong with you?" he said, forcing open Harry's petrified fingers and taking his wand.

"Urrrgh." Harry's mouth was full of sand.

"I'm sorry." Neville levitated him to the side of the road where he sat Harry upright against a tree trunk. "I'm so sorry, but I couldn't let you go on and kill them, could I?" He sounded dejected. After a long silence, he muttered a series of spells.

The sand whooshed from Harry's mouth, and he could move his lips again. "Shit, Neville," he sputtered. He wanted to jump to his feet, but his legs didn't obey his command. Neville's spell still paralysed them. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to talk to the snakes." Neville put his hand on Harry's shoulder and squeezed it. "Ask them why they're here. Convince them to leave."

Harry shook his head. "Merlin, you're so naive. What do you think they'll do? Wave a friendly good-bye and bundle off? They're snakes, dammit, evil incarnate."

"Naive? Maybe." Neville fixed him with an intense gaze. "But when did you lose your spirit? Kill first, talk later, that's not like you, Harry."

"I've seen it." The memory of Nagini petrified him more thoroughly than Neville's Stunner had done. "I've seen the evil of the snake." His body turned to ice.

 _Nagini's enormous coils wound through her cage, and when the sphere was lowered on Snape's head and his shoulders, Harry couldn't see his face anymore. Before him stood a snake-man, bubble-headed and grotesque._

 _"Kill." The sound of the word was burned into Harry's mind. Parseltongue or English, it didn't matter. He knew the meaning of Voldemort's deadly command._

 _He was inside the snake now, saw with her eyes and smelled with her tongue. The blood in his veins seethed with hatred, and Harry didn't know if he experienced his own emotions or those of the snake. Snape's neck glowed white in the darkness._

 _Harry didn't sense any fear. Snape was like marble, so cold. Below the smooth skin, though, Harry could feel the steady flow of life. Desire surged through him like an electric current, desire so strong it hurt. He longed to rip the calm surface off, longed to see the man behind the mask. The body of the snake went rigid with hunger. It raised its head, ready to strike._

 _It was Harry who lowered his head and kissed the white skin of Snape's neck._

The touch of Neville's hand on his shoulder snapped Harry back to reality. "I think I understand," Neville said. "When I faced Nagini, I could feel it, too."

Harry stared at him without comprehension. "What did you feel?"

"Evil," Neville said. "I don't think it was the snake, though."

"What do you mean?"

"It may sound weird, but I believe that somehow, Voldemort possessed the snake. I could see _him_ in Nagini's eyes." Neville shivered. He hugged himself and rubbed his arms.

"Nagini chose Voldemort. She was evil all by herself." Harry reached for his scar. He'd always been convinced of Nagini's evil nature, but all of a sudden, he wasn't so sure anymore.

"Evil's a human invention," Neville said, returning Harry's wand. "Anyway, I didn't sense anything bad about them." Neville pointed his own wand at Harry's legs and stretched out his hand. "Will you try and talk to the snakes?" he asked.

"I don't know if I still can." Harry took the offered hand and stood.

* * *

Snape's memorial glittered in the sunlight. The sight of the glass dome filled Harry with sadness and pride. The memorial wasn't just beautiful, or grand, as the _Daily Prophet_ had called it. A botanical garden renowned for its richness in species, it contained one of the world's largest collections of magical herbs and flowers. Potions experts had nicknamed it the 'Garden of Eden', and they visited from all over the wizarding world to gather rare ingredients. Harry only wished that Snape could be one of them.

Leaving Neville among the native plants on the periphery of the garden, Harry walked alone through the gates of the great pavilion in the centre. He entered a strange new world, a world in which brisk Highland air and midday sun had no part. Befitting the man in whose honour it had been built, the inside of Snape's memorial was filled with shadows and half-light. The air was hot and humid and rife with the perfumes of exotic flowers and the sweet smell of decay. Swaying vines hung from the treetops and enormous palm trees reached for a hidden sky. The ground was covered with a tangle of ferns and leaves. In the distance, Harry could hear the faint rush of water. In such an environment, the hissing of snakes seemed natural.

Harry followed a small path into the jungle. The snakes remained hidden, but the hissing intensified. It made Harry's skin crawl. _Evil's a human invention_ , he repeated Neville's words in his mind.

The Shrieking Shack had been left intact when the glass house was erected around it. Nature had taken possession of it and transformed it beyond recognition. Two of the exterior walls were completely gone. Everything else was covered in mosses and lichens. Water trickled down the walls and the green slope that had once been the staircase.

The cellar was exposed. The place where Snape had been killed and from which his body had miraculously disappeared was populated with innumerable snakes.

Harry stared at the coiled chaos, appalled and fascinated at the same time. The snakes were silent now, and for a long moment, nothing happened. Then a boa constrictor lifted its head and fixed Harry with beady eyes. It began to hiss.

"I can't understand you," Harry said.

The boa constrictor raised its eyes to the treetops, as if to say, _Idiot_. There was something familiar about the snake and, oddly enough, it seemed likeable. When it winked at Harry, an old childhood memory returned.

"Hey, amigo," Harry said. "Did you ever get to Brazil?"

The boa constrictor shook its head. "I live at Kew Gardens now. Very warm and comfortable and lots of juicy mice. I have to say, though, this place here is beautiful, too." It winked again and slithered past him and up a tree.

Harry was rooted to the spot, unable to wrap his mind around the fact that he just had had a conversation in Parseltongue again. _How was it even possible?_ he asked himself, touching his forehead. The scar was barely perceptible to his fingertips, just another part of his skin.

The snakes in the cellar had followed the exchange with raised heads. "Bravo," they hissed. "We knew you could do it." - "Excellent."

A small Basilisk, its eyes shut, rose before Harry. "I'm so glad you found your voice again," it said.

"How?" Harry asked, pinching the skin on his forehead. The scar still didn't hurt. "I couldn't understand you before. I was sure it was gone."

The Basilisk laughed. "Why would it be gone? You chose to forget, that's a completely different matter." It swayed its head pensively. "The master was worried about you when you didn't react to the dreams he sent you."

"Your _master_?" Harry grabbed for his wand, but the snakes out sped him. Two Ashwinders wound around his arm, keeping his wand firmly in place. The boa constrictor from the zoo slipped around his neck and pinned his other arm to his back.

"It's all right," it hissed soothingly into his ear. "Just a misunderstanding."

"What? How can you say that?" Harry struggled to free himself, but it was to no avail. "They're serving an evil master. Are you one of them?"

"You have to learn a lot about snakes, amigo," was the answer.

A Runespoor appeared beside the Basilisk. "The master's right," the left head said. "He _is_ an idiot."

"Oh shut up already," the middle head said in a dreamy voice. "Look how beautiful his eyes are. The master's also right about _that_."

"What the hell? Who _is_ your master?"

"Don't you remember him?" the Basilisk asked. "You should. He talks about you all the time. This place was built in his honour."

"Snape," Harry said. His wand arm relaxed, and the Ashwinders released him. The boa slithered back up the tree, and Harry had to lean against the trunk to keep himself upright. "Snape's alive?" he asked. "How's that possible? Where is he?"

A little garden snake broke away from the crowd. It climbed up the tree until it reached Harry's shoulders, then wound itself around his neck. "He's alive," it whispered into Harry's ear. "Barely. He sleeps. He talks to us in his dreams."

"What happened?"

"When our sister attacked him, the master was prepared. To protect himself against her poison, he had created an immunising potion and, for over a year, ingested it daily. It slowly turned him into one of us."

"Snape's a snake?" Harry was torn between the joy of knowing that Snape was alive and a vague disappointment.

"He's both, man and snake." The garden snake chuckled. "Don't worry, his body's unchanged."

Harry blushed.

"His blood and soul are snake, and so he can talk to us."

"In his dreams?"

"Of course." The snake pointed her tail at the cellar where the other snakes watched them with avid interest, their tongues darting in and out. "I found him here and recognised him as one of us. So I called our brothers and sisters for help. We transported him to a secret place in order to heal him, but all we could do was keep him alive. He needs you."

"Me?"

"Human help." The snake chuckled again. "But he's dreaming only of you. He sent us to talk to you in your dreams. You wouldn't listen to us. That's the reason why we're here."

"What can I do?" Harry asked. "Can I see him?"

"Come with us," it hissed all around him. "Come with us. Let us show you the way."

* * *

When, after an hour, Harry hadn't returned, Neville went looking for him. He found the ruin of the Shrieking Shack deserted. In the cellar, the block of black marble with Snape's name on it was snake free and spotless once more, except for a tiny artificial owl adorning the second 's' of 'Severus'. Whirring excitedly, it flapped its metal wings.

Then it was gone.


End file.
